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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696290">Mechanics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791'>Estrella3791</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Awkward Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), First Kiss, Getting Together, Ineffable Husbands AU Week, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), They're women and they're in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:07:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale and Anathema and Newt get stranded on the side of the road when Dick Turpin breaks down, and the most stunning woman Aziraphale has ever seen comes to pick them up. You can guess what happens next.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>ineffable wives or female presenting</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mechanics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome to Aziraphale being smitten and Crowley also being smitten and cars being towed and rides being given.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh, dear,” says Aziraphale, well aware that she’s fretting and not helping matters but unable to help herself. “What can we do?”</p><p>“Not a lot,” says Newt glumly, looking nearly as worried as Aziraphale feels.</p><p>They’re in the middle of nowhere, and Newton’s antiquated car (He affectionately calls it ‘Dick Turpin. Aziraphale calls it ‘wretched thing.’) has finally decided to give up the ghost. The clock is ticking ever closer to midnight, and all because they went to watch the latest Greta Gerwig movie. (Which was, admittedly, worth it.)</p><p>“Oh, you’re both ridiculous,” huffs Anathema, pulling out her phone. “We can just call a tow service. Didn’t this occur to the two of you?”</p><p>Aziraphale and Newt are quiet. This option had not, in fact, occurred to either of them. (This is probably because neither of them are very intuitive about technology. Newton has single-handedly destroyed every mobile phone he’s ever had, and Aziraphale hasn’t even bothered getting one. The landline at her shop works just fine, thank you.)</p><p>“Honestly,” says Anathema, rolling her eyes and dialing a number. She explains their predicament to whoever’s on the other end of the line, listens, nods, says “see you soon,” and hangs up. “Now,” she says to Aziraphale and Newton, “that was a two-minute conversation, and it means that we’re going to be home in, like, a couple of hours, tops. Surely that’s enough to convince you that phones are good, Aziraphale?”</p><p>Aziraphale tries to look like she’s considering it. “Well, I suppose that it would be frightfully convenient to be able to call someone at any time,” she says, trying to sound placating.</p><p>“Yes!” says Anathema.</p><p>“But isn’t it a bit concerning, the fact that it could run out of battery at any time?” says Aziraphale, and Anathema looks like she might cry.</p><p>“I give up,” she says, and Aziraphale tries not to feel smug. It’ll take a lot more than that for her to cave and buy a mobile.</p><p>*</p><p>They wait for twenty minutes, during which time Aziraphale and Newt grow more and more skeptical and Anathema becomes more and more insistent. And impatient.</p><p>“Honestly,” she says for the umpteenth time. “Just because the mechanic owns a tow truck doesn’t mean she can break the sound barrier. She’s still beholden to the laws of physics like the rest of us.”</p><p>And that intrigues Aziraphale. Old-fashioned, she knows, to be intrigued by a female mechanic, but here she is. Blame it on her sheltered, shuttered upbringing. She wonders what the mechanic will look like. She wonders what prompted the mechanic to pursue a career in mechanicking.</p><p>And then she doesn’t have to wonder anymore, because there are headlights shining in her face and she feels nervous, of all things. <em>Don’t be silly!</em> she scolds her foolish, hopeful heart. <em>As if she’d be interested in <strong>you</strong>.</em></p><p>Anathema gets out of the car, and so does Newt, AND Aziraphale does, too, because it’d be weird to stay in the vehicle when no one else is, right? The mechanic swings her door open and slides down to the ground. Aziraphale’s breath catches in her throat.</p><p>She’s not sure if it’s the purply-pink light of the setting sun or the fact that she’s had a little bit of time to convince herself that the ‘she’ mechanic might be her soulmate, but the woman striding towards them is stunning. She’s tall and slender and her hair is fiery and Aziraphale isn’t sure how she’s supposed to act like a normal person when faced with such a magnificent woman.</p><p>“Hello, folks,” says the mechanic, offering them all a lopsided grin that makes Aziraphale’s heart speed up. (<em>Down, girl,</em> she thinks.) “What seems to be the trouble with your lovely vehicle, here?”</p><p>She gives Dick Turpin a glance that is decidedly amicable, and Aziraphale thinks that she really needs to get her heart under control. She could never date someone that liked the wretched thing.</p><p>Newt details the wretched thing’s ailments and Aziraphale busies herself with trying (and failing, mostly) not to stare. Oh, but there are so many things to stare at. The long, elegant fingers with which the mechanic is pointing at Dick Turpin. The twist of her torso as she looks back towards her truck. The curve of her mouth and the flash of her teeth as she smiles at something Newt said.</p><p>“You could be a little less obvious with the drooling, you know,” Anathema says into Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale jumps.</p><p>“I’m not - It’s not - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says guiltily.</p><p>Anathema is grinning like the cat that got the canary.</p><p>“Oh, yes you do,” she says gleefully.</p><p>“I do not, and I’ll thank you kindly to leave it alone,” says Aziraphale, flustered.</p><p>The mechanic, who hasn’t introduced herself, looks over at them and smiles. That smile, turned in her direction, is overwhelming. And then Newt says something and she turns back to him and Aziraphale feels like she can breathe again.</p><p>“Yep,” says Anathema, who is smiling so widely that Aziraphale is surprised that her face hasn’t cracked, “You’ve got it bad.”</p><p>Aziraphale would protest, except that now the mechanic is walking towards them and any and all words are catching in her throat.</p><p>“Hi,” says the mechanic, flashing them another grin. (They seem to come far too easily for such devastating things.) “The two of us haven’t met yet, have we? Anthea J. Crowley, at your service.” And she proffers a hand which is far more attractive than any hand has the right to be, topped with black, glossy fingernails. Aziraphale thinks distantly that mechanics should not have manicures.</p><p>Her voice is stuck somewhere in her stomach, but Anathema’s elbow nudges her ribs again and dislodges it.</p><p>“Hello,” says Aziraphale, taking Anthea’s hand and trying not to think about how strong and slim and wonderful it feels in hers. Her voice is a little rough but no one comments on it. “Aziraphale Malak.”</p><p>“Ah, an angel,” says Anthea, eyes twinkling. “Makes sense - you look like one.”</p><p>Aziraphale feels herself blushing and splutters a little, trying to figure out how to say “how absurd” and “thank you” and “Why do you know anything about anglicized Arabic?” and ends up saying none of them.</p><p>“She does, doesn’t she?” says Anathema, who hasn’t stopped smirking since Anthea sauntered towards them.</p><p>Aziraphale finds her voice, and it says, “You’re ridiculous,” and Anthea smiles again.</p><p>“Ah, friendship,” she says.</p><p>“Indeed,” says Aziraphale, and Anthea meets her eyes, still smiling, and Aziraphale is mesmerized by how very like gold they are. She has never seen eyes that colour, and she never wants to again, because she wants to lose herself in Anthea’s forever and always.</p><p>“So!” says Anathema. “Enough space in your rig for all of us?”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Anthea says. “Bentley can handle anything.”</p><p>“You’ve named your truck?” asks Aziraphale, feeling amused and still incredibly disoriented due to Anthea’s amazing eyes.</p><p>“‘Have I named my truck?’” parrots Anthea, rolling her eyes. “Of course I’ve named my truck! Haven’t you named your vehicle, angel?”</p><p>“Aziraphale doesn’t have one,” says Anathema. “They’re too modern an invention for her.”</p><p>Anthea gapes. “No car?” she echoes. “How do you get around?”</p><p>“Mostly I find charitable people that are willing to take me somewhere in return for a small payment,” sniffs Aziraphale, feeling (irrationally, probably) attacked. “Otherwise, I take the bus or walk.”</p><p>Anthea holds up her hands placatingly, clearly picking up on the defensive tone. “I meant no offense,” she says, “I was just surprised. This may come as a shock, but I love cars.”</p><p>Aziraphale, feeling foolish but amused, says, “Trucks, too, apparently.” Anthea grins again (she <em>has</em> to stop doing that, Aziraphale's poor heart <em>cannot</em> handle it) and nods.</p><p>“Trucks, too. And vans. Oh, and motorbikes! Speedy little machines.”</p><p>She looks off dreamily. Aziraphale doesn’t have to fake a little shudder.</p><p>“Heaven help us,” she mutters, and Anthea throws back her head and laughs.</p><p>“They won’t need to,” she says, “I’m not taking you home in a motorbike. I’m taking you in Bentley. She doesn’t move very quickly.”</p><p>“About that,” says Anathema quickly, “you don’t have to take us home - ”</p><p>“Nonsense!” says Anthea cheerfully. “You’re paying me enough, and I haven’t got anything else on for the evening. Now,” and she jogs back to ‘Bentley’ and opens the passenger door, “hop in!”</p><p>*</p><p>Aziraphale isn’t sure what Crowley’s (she prefers Crowley, it turns out) definition of ‘very quickly’ is, and she’s very sure that she has absolutely no interest in finding out. The truck zooms along the motorway, with Crowley cheerfully answering the questions that Newt and Anathema are asking her. (Aziraphale still can’t quite seem to find her voice. Something about the curve of Crowley’s neck, the grip of her hands on the steering wheel, steals it away.)</p><p>“Didn’t grow up thinking I was gonna be a mechanic,” Crowley says, changing lanes so abruptly that Newton lets out a little shriek. “Parents kicked me out when I was sixteen, dropped out of school,didn’t have anything better to do.”</p><p>Aziraphale would dearly love to know <em>why</em> Crowley got kicked out but is also aware that that’s not an appropriate thing to ask someone you’ve only just met.</p><p>“And do you have a partner?” asks Anathema, neatly steering the conversation away from potentially sticky territory. “Kids?”</p><p>“Nah,” says Crowley. “Got a godson, though. Adam.”</p><p>”“How old is your godson?” Aziraphale asks, surprising herself.</p><p>“Four,” says Anthea, smiling a little. She has a lot of smiles, Aziraphale is starting to realize. This one is soft and fond and makes Aziraphale’s tummy perform some impressive acrobatics. “He’s adorable, and also a menace. Little hellspawn needs to be doing something at every hour of the day. You know how kids are.”</p><p>“Of course,” says Aziraphale, who has not interacted with a child younger than the age of eighteen since she <em>was</em> one. Anathema smirks audibly.</p><p>“What about you, angel?” asks Crowley, glancing at Aziraphale and then back at the road. Aziraphale tries to pretend that a little tingle doesn’t go through her every time Crowley calls her ‘angel.’ “Got a family?”</p><p>“No,” says Aziraphale. “I am currently unattached.” <em>But I <strong>could</strong> be attached. I’m not averse to attachment. I -</em></p><p><br/>
“We’re right down this street,” says Anathema, and Aziraphale forces herself to focus.</p><p>*</p><p>Crowley drops her off at her flat, and Aziraphale is overwhelmed with panic at the thought of never seeing her again, but she needn’t have worried.</p><p>“It was good to meet you, angel,” says Crowley, rolling down her window so she can speak to Aziraphale, who is on the pavement. For some reason that Aziraphale would very much like to know Crowley is blushing. “If you ever - uh, I know you don’t have a car but if you have a friend that - yeah. Um. Here’s my card.”</p><p>And she all but throws a piece of paper out the window in Aziraphale’s direction, and Aziraphale doesn’t have time to respond to her hasty “bye!” before she takes off down the street.</p><p>Aziraphale stands outside for longer than she’ll ever admit, clutching the card to her chest and feeling butterflies.</p><p>*</p><p>They email a little bit, after Aziraphale works up the courage to send a ‘thank you again for the ride,’ and then they call each other once or twice, and then Crowley, amidst quite a bit of stammering, suggests that they go out for lunch.</p><p>Aziraphale spends the morning fluctuating between telling herself that it doesn’t matter what she wears, that if Crowley doesn’t like her as she is then she isn’t worth her time anyway, and changing in and out of five different outfits.</p><p>“Heya!” says Crowley, when she opens the door to a brisk knock. She’s showing no sign of the nervousness she displayed on the phone, which makes Aziraphale jealous, because her nerves are on full display.</p><p>“Hello,” says Aziraphale nervously.</p><p>Crowley immediately switches tactics.</p><p>“Hey, angel, you know it’s just lunch, right? There’s no, uh, no pressure. I have no expectations. Zero expectations. Less than zero. Negative expectations. Not that they’re negative! But, you know - ”</p><p>“I do,” says Aziraphale, because she thinks she does and she can’t seem to stop smiling. “Thank you, Crowley.”</p><p>Crowley turns a vibrant shade of vermillion but smiles back at her.</p><p>“Where to?” asks Aziraphale, once they’ve settled into their respective seats. (Crowley is not driving the truck today. She’s driving a black convertible, which she has also referred to as Bentley. Aziraphale has decided not to ask.)</p><p>“Wherever you want, angel,” she says, flipping on a turning signal, and Aziraphale looks out the window, hating how hot her face is. Crowley misinterprets it.</p><p>“Oh, no,” she says, and then says something that is a lot of consonants. Aziraphale is very impressed with how suddenly Crowley’s composure seems to have fallen apart. “‘M really sorry a - Aziraphale. That - sorry. I never even asked if - and I’ve been saying it all this time - ’</p><p>“Don’t worry,” says Aziraphale, incredibly endeared. “I don’t mind.”</p><p>Crowley visibly relaxes and risks a glance over at her. “Oh,” she says. "Thanks." They ride along in silence for awhile, and then, “So, where to?”</p><p>*</p><p>They end up at Crowley’s auto shop, because after a lot of wheedling on Crowley’s part Aziraphale finally admits to being curious. She has, after all, never been to one.</p><p>She’s struck by how glorious Crowley is in the place she’s made for herself, how incredibly well the sleek black lines of the garage and the minimalist design of the waiting area suit her.</p><p>“And these are my plants,” says Crowley with a flourish, indicating a wall that is nearly entirely lined with shelves, upon which is a veritable garden of plants.</p><p>“Oh, they’re lovely!” says Aziraphale, darting towards them and stroking a leaf with her hand. “Absolutely beautiful!”</p><p>She turns around to beam at Crowley and then gets distracted, because Crowley is staring at her with a look in her eyes that sets Aziraphale’s heart quivering. She licks her lips, and watches Crowley’s gaze drop to follow the motion. She feels entirely too warm.</p><p>“Do you grow them yourself?” she asks in little more than a whisper.</p><p>Crowley seems to come back to herself, shake something off. She clears her throat and offers Aziraphale yet another smile, but this one seems shaky, like its foundations aren’t solid.</p><p>“Yep,” she says, shoving her hands in her pockets.</p><p>“Well, you’re quite the find,” says Aziraphale. “You own a garage and a garden.”</p><p>“Well, what can I say?” says Crowley, shrugging, blushing again. Aziraphale watches the pink flush spread across her face, entranced. “I do my best.”</p><p>Aziraphale thinks of a lot of things to say, but says none of them, just turns back to the plants and strokes another leaf. Her heart is pounding.</p><p>Crowley clears her throat again. “Well,” she says, “I promised you lunch.”</p><p>“That you did,” agrees Aziraphale, stepping through the door to the garage that Crowley’s holding open.</p><p>“Did you have a place in mind?” asks Crowley, and when Aziraphale looks back at her she’s still holding the door, watching Aziraphale, something very soft and warm and thrilling in her eyes.</p><p>“Not particularly,” murmurs Aziraphale, and then Crowley is stepping towards her, hands in her pockets, looking incredibly nervous. Aziraphale’s heart seems to have relocated to her throat.</p><p>“Look,” says Crowley, “I don’t - I’m not - aghck. Can’t believe I’m doing this. But you - and I - you’re gorgeous, Aziraphale, you must know that, must hear it all the time, and I know I’m just a scrawny awkward car enthusiast but you’re beautiful, good Lord are you ever beautiful, and if you say no then of course I’ll respect that and no hard feelings, obviously, and I hope we can still be friends - or friendly acquaintances - or just acquaintances, at least - and of course we can still go to lunch after, of course, if you want, and if this is too - well, I just wanted to know if you’d - um - would you maybe - ”</p><p>And then Aziraphale, driven by impulsiveness for perhaps the first time in her life, does what she’s wanted to do since Crowley sauntered towards Dick Turpin, backlit by the setting sun. She reaches out and tugs Crowley’s face towards herself and kisses her like her life depends on it.</p><p>Crowley stiffens, and for one horrifying moment Aziraphale thinks she’s read it all wrong, and then Crowley makes a small, desperate sound and wraps both hands around Aziraphale’s waist and melts into her and Aziraphale is tingly everywhere and extra warm in a few places and she’s kissing Crowley, she’s <em>kissing</em> Crowley, and it is wonderful.</p><p>Crowley pulls back after awhile, looking dazed, and keeps one hand on Aziraphale’s waist but brings the other up to cup her cheek.</p><p>“You’re perfect,” she says softly.</p><p>Aziraphale hides her face in her shoulder, and Crowley wraps her arms around her tightly.</p><p>“I mean it,” she insists. “Blush and deflect all you like, but you’re perfection. You’re amazing. You’re - ” she makes a frustrated noise and Aziraphale squeezes her and she relaxes. “You’re everything, angel.”</p><p>“Oh, my,” whispers Aziraphale, a little overwhelmed.</p><p>Crowley promptly (predictably) starts to panic.</p><p>“But I don’t - that’s too much, too soon, isn’t it? Why can’t I say the right - I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I mean it, I really do, but I shouldn’t have said it until later, and - ”</p><p>“Oh, hush,” says Aziraphale gently. Crowley discreetly wipes her eyes. “You’re quite an exceptional woman yourself.”</p><p>“Well,” says Crowley, pulling away and sniffling. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Any time,” says Aziraphale, and means it.</p><p>“Well,” says Crowley again, clapping her hands and effectively shattering the moment. “Shall we?”</p><p>“We shall,” says Aziraphale, and they go to lunch.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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